The Unsought Light
by connarii
Summary: A tragic? romance loosely based on the famous Japanese play The Maiden of Unai - written for a university class, but hopefully not too dry. Rated teen for violence/death, but no graphic sex or language... and not particularly gory either. C 2009


**The Unsought Light**

Katrina Wiggins

A cold war wages outside this window. A war of open hostility and silent aggression; a war of arms; a war of words; a war of duelling forces which threatens to overwhelm us three. There is no escape; not for me, not for them. But what could we have done? We, each of us, lived by our light, reached for our dream, strove against the forces of this world. Now, entrapped within this web of constraints, what choice is left to us but to abandon it all?

…

My sin: that I loved a man unbidden. His sin: that he loved me enough to abandon his home. His rival's sin: that he was too weak a man to break our destiny.

Here in my hometown of Unai, each man's fortune is based on an invisible net of alliances and enmities. You must choose your friends wisely, and remain loyal to the end, or you might find your business shunned, your children taken, your home burned in your absence. However, with the right alliance, with a powerful friend, you would surely prosper. Therefore, from birth, I was promised to the son of the Lord of Unai.

From my earliest years I was raised to be the most perfect and worthy bride. I was hidden away from the world, trained in all arts necessary to keeping a household and raising a family. No expense, no effort was spared in ensuring that I become the most beautiful, the most captivating, the most fascinating bride.

But what young girl does not dream of love? What did I care for my father's political maneuverings? Certainly I resented being sold off for my family's self-promotion, traded for wealth and prestige, but it was a resigned resentment, quietly, helplessly simmering as I spent my days studying, my only diversion watching the seasons change outside my window.

This, too, was contrived by my parents. The low window of my room faces onto an open space, which, while rarely traversed, was from time to time frequented by the family of my fiancé. I was to sit at the window, in the shade, my face carefully veiled, so that the ones I was promised to might come and ascertain how I was 'coming along'. Of course, I also watched these visitors stealthily, with affected ignorance, as though they were but ducks swimming on the lake, cherry blossoms dancing in the breeze, leaves drifting from the trees, merely the natural phenomenon of the seasons that passed by one after the next.

I sought out, peeking from the corner of my eye, the figures of the sons of the family as they paraded through the park, trying to guess which one was to be my husband as I scrutinized their clothes, their attitude, their glances. The middle son, I soon determined to be my fiancé, from his attentiveness. His wide eyes sought often my window, then, timidly, flicked away. From time to time, he would venture forth, with contrived casualness, and awkwardly deposit a flowering branch or handful of wild blossoms on a large rock, which lay not far from where I sat. Then, bashful, he would duck away again, his face reddening as he turned.

When I was very young, I wondered if I might perhaps fall in love with the nervous boy, but with each passing year, as his moist gaze became fixed ever more in my direction, I grew more and more full of disgust and resentment towards this boy whom I would one day be forced to marry. For this undeserving child, I studied day in and day out; for this insipid weakling I strove for beauty; for this spoiled princeling my father and mother would abandon me. As I came of age, messages started to arrive from the Lord of Unai's son; a poem in praise of my beauty, knotted around a branch of flowering plum, an ode to the splendor of my eyes (which he had certainly never seen), a lengthy confession of his undying love for me. I felt sick.

Whether it was my mother's proud prattling or my fiancé's unadvised bragging, my fame soon spread as the most beautiful and desirable girl in all of Unai. The grass was trampled to mud underfoot as the townspeople came out one by one to seek out the sight of the 'beauty of Unai'. I withdrew farther into the shadows of my window, my one pleasure marred by the vulgar curiosity of the commoners who frightened the ducks from the lakeshore, who broke the tree branches and trampled the flowers. Young men frequently passed by the window, trying to catch a glimpse, calling out to me with words sometimes sweet, oftentimes times bitter. My fiancé was among them, sometimes jealous, frequently angry that I hid myself. The noisy fools beat a path past my window, a squalid mud rut that led from the heart of the town to the main highway.

Soon visitors from all of Ashinoya also began to take this route, drawn by tales of the Beauty of Unai. I hid myself away during the day, returning to my window only at night, to gaze barefaced at the moon reflected on the lake. It was one such night that he appeared, travelling on the road from Chinu. Distracted as I gazed at the near-but-distant lake, I did not see him until he stood just outside my window. A stillness in the air jarred my attention from the mirror-still lake to the figure of a man standing close by, gazing fixedly on my face. I gasped, shifted, began to flee, but the clearness of his eyes, so bright in the darkness, held me transfixed, and I gazed back at him unabashedly for a long moment.

The moon shone on his dark, dark hair, and illuminated his strong face. His body was straight and well formed, tall, yes – and the thought came to me that I thought him tall because the other was not, that I thought him well formed because I compared him to the meek form of the other… and a gust of wind released a flurry of cherry blossoms, breaking our gaze. I withdrew a few steps into the shadow of my room, but turned to look again. The blossoms swirled around him as though he were a creature of myth, a prince of the ancient times, glancing off his hair, settling on his shoulders, weaving around his form as though his very presence called to the blossoms, his spirit directing and rousing them from stillness – and my heart swelled so that it might burst. Frightened, now, I turned, sank to the floor, my hands clutched at my chest.

"Do not go." He called to me, his voice low, deep, as deep and as clear as the lake that so clearly reflected the moon. I rose, as if to return to the window, but, still afraid, paused, waiting, in the shadows. He called to me again:

"Return."

One word, simple, a command, an invitation, and my body, my heart, my soul longed to obey. Fear stilled my steps, a moment's pause - and later I would wonder how different our fate might have been if I had not given in to fear. Fear held me back from responding to him, and now I heard my mother's step outside my door, saw the glow from her lantern as she approached.

"I cannot." I whispered to him, turning as I spoke, turning away from him. "You must go."

As I spoke, a pain ripped through my chest fiercely. My mother opened the door to my room.

"Who are you speaking to?" She demanded, suspicious.

"No one." I replied. "There is no one here."

She pushed past me, glanced out the window, turned back triumphant, crestfallen.

"Yes. There is no one." My heart shattered as I gazed out the window at the beautiful, empty park.

"No one." I echoed, brokenly.

…

The next morning I again sat at my window. Blind to the gawking passers by, I tried to rebuild the image in my mind of the bright, bright moon reflecting on the deep, clear lake, on his shimmering hair, in his shining eyes. I wondered now, if it was nothing more than a dream, a ghost or reflection of some other time or place that haunted me in the still night. As I struggled to rebuild each fading detail, the line of his jaw, the hollow of his cheek, again his form stood before me. Astonished, I blinked, expecting to dispel the image.

In full daylight he stood before me, the brilliant sun glimmering in his hair, glancing off the hilt of the sword at his waist. Passersby made wide detours around his still form, glancing repeatedly at him. He ignored them all, had eyes only for me. Enraptured, I, too, could see only his still form, blind to all others. Was it seconds later, minutes, hours, lifetimes that my mother grabbed my arm and forcibly dragged me from the window. Blind for a moment in the darkness of the room, I could not at first understand what she said.

"What are you to that man?" She demanded.

I said nothing, but stared back mutely, wondering only when I might turn back to my vision, wondering if it would not have faded like a mirage.

"The news is all over town; that man from Chinu is infatuated with you, says he will not leave unless you are with him. What have you done? Do you realize what will happen to this family if you are taken by a stranger?" She paused, taking in my blank stare, my stiff form, and said, softly, cruelly: "Do you realize what will happen to him? What your fiancé's family will do to him?"

I averted my gaze, turned away from her.

"Many have come to see me, mother. There is no danger in looking." And as I spoke this lie, my breath caught at the wonder of the truth. One look and I was lost. One look and he was… My mother held out a package wordlessly. A square of finest silk fell away to reveal the most beautiful, the most extravagant kimono I had ever seen. Sprinkled over and within the folds of the kimono were pale cherry blossoms, and placed on top of it, a square of paper with a few simple words written in the most elegant hand: "The loveliness of a blossom seen under the spring moon may never be forgotten."

My mother snatched the card up and waved it in front of me.

"You will be the ruin of us! That man is the young Lord of Chinu – his power is not to be taken lightly!"

She dashed out of the room, the small card crumpled in her hand. But what did I care for her pettiness – I, who was loved by such a powerful lord, I who might soon be released from the constraints and binding loyalties of Unai. I ran my hand over the fine silk of the precious kimono, lifted its fabric, draped it around me, dressed in it. Thrilled, I turned to the window, eager to show off my finery. The pleasure in my love's eyes was all I could have hoped for and more, but it was marred by the fiery jealousy of my insipid fiancé as he gazed up in injured shock from where he stood, not inches away from the Lord of Chinu.

…

And so the war started. My fiancé postured outside my house with his brothers, his entourage, while the young Lord of Chinu held his ground. The two were at first resentful of each other, then openly hostile, and then patiently tolerant, biding their time as the war spread out from each individual to encompass first their respective families, their retainers, and finally the whole of each town. With each passing day I grew paler and thinner as my family chased me from the window, as I refused to eat. The fine kimono was sent in tatters to the Lord of Unai as an apology. The young Lord of Chinu's letters and gifts were discarded or burnt on delivery, while the letters of the Lord of Unai's son were responded to with slavish missives penned by my interfering mother. A retainer of the Lord of Chinu was found dead on the outskirts of town on morning; the next day two men of Unai lay dead in the town square – and the rumors spread that the Lord of Chinu was a cruel man, a vicious man, a petty man, while the whispers flitted through my household that the Lord of Unai would do nothing and spare nothing to get the better of the Lord of Chinu and have me wed his son.

One still summer night the residence of the Lord of Chinu reportedly caught fire, and the next day, though I strained my ears to hear of his arrival, he did not come. That night a storage building of the Lord of Unai burned to the ground, reportedly set by the Lord of Chinu himself, although I heard my mother whisper triumphantly to my father that the Lord of Chinu was badly injured, and many of his retainers killed, when his residence had caught fire the night before.

The next morning my father summoned me. He told me that my wedding to the son of the Lord of Unai would take place in secret the following morning. Though I begged and cried and screamed, he would hear none of my pleas, but only sent me away, back to my room. And again, that night I heard the whispers of the household from within my room; the Lord of Chinu was badly injured; if he should depart this night, how much better it would be to have the wedding openly. And what better way to insist upon a departure than to have the men of Unai cast the Lord of Chinu into the deep, still waters of the lake this very night.

On hearing those words, my heart felt as though it too were weighted with rocks and sunk into the heavy depths of the dark lake. I sat very still as I heard those whispers, and after, too, I hardly moved at all I as sought to comprehend a world in which my love no longer drew breath, a world in which I was bound for the rest of my life to one who I despised. Indeed, it would be better not to live than to be forced to live in a world such as that. As I thought this, a spark flared in my heart. Why wait to be sold into a loveless union? How much better to join my love in the lake, or barring that, what if I was to arrive in time? Might I warn him, somehow stop the evil plans of the Lord of Unai and flee with my love to Chinu? What risk could be too great for this goal; to live or to die by the side of my love – either far better than the fate that awaits me here!

I put off my heavy outer kimono, pulled the combs from my hair, and, barefoot, climbed up to my window, slipped through, and, light as a drifting cherry blossom, fled from my childhood home to the once far but now near lake. I paused by a tree at the edge of the lake and gazed across its expanse. There, on the far side, a boat detached from the greater darkness of the overhanging trees, a lantern at either end illuminating two small figures. As the boat reached the centre of the lake, the two men reached down and pulled the Lord of Chinu from the bottom of the boat. His hands and feet were bound to heavy stones, and he struggled violently as they tipped him over the edge.

I cried out as my love sank under the surface of the lake, and leaped forward into the water, shoving forward against its clammy resistance, my thin dress wrapping around my legs, slowing me down. I looked back, once at the shore, as the water reached my shoulders. My mother and father stood at the edge, watching, immobile. My mother called out when I turned back:

"Its too late for him. Return to us."

But her call was weak. Her eyes, my father's eyes, were cold, distant, calculating. They were planning their fortunes, scheming a way out even as the water sank over my head. What did I care for this cold world where no love could be found? Better to seek the world beyond with my love.

My hair swirled darkly around me in the dim depths of the lake, my thin dress a pale shroud. My clutched fists relaxed into the eddying current, flowing, flowing away. I closed my eyes. There was no pain, no fear, only a lingering sadness for what could have been; a life of love and wonder in the arms of my young lord. In a different world, perhaps, we could have been together. In a different world, perhaps…

I see the lake from above, as if I am a bird. The son of the Lord of Unai is standing at the edge of the lake and he is crying. I feel no anger, no resentment, only a distant stirring of pity. He takes a few steps into the lake, and I want to speak to him to tell him that he must not, that he should not love me to that extent, that he should not fear his family to that extent… but then, I wonder if it would be so bad for him to find that peace that I feel. I no longer hate him. I no longer loathe his small, round-shouldered form, his moist, longing eyes. He slogs heavily through the water, his tears vanishing into the lake as his head disappears under the still glass. I feel neither sad nor happy. I wonder if I can feel anything anymore.

The scene changes. I now see my father speaking with the Lord of Unai. The body of the Lord of Unai's son lies under a white cloth. His hand, which has escaped the shroud, is bloated with the blue-grey skin of a drowned man. Time moves so quickly. The drowned boy is buried in a mound at the edge of the lake. A larger mound is raised beside it; my father tells the townspeople that the Lord of Unai's son and I committed suicide to escape the crazed obsession of the Lord of Chinu.

Some weeks later, the new Lord of Chinu comes and raises another mound for their dead lord. The Lord of Unai protests, but the new Lord of Chinu buys his silence and a new story. They say that I killed myself to avoid choosing between the two men, that the men killed themselves out of love and pride; that we three are bound for all eternity. I feel nothing; I doubt that I shall ever feel again. The grave mounds fade away.

I am in the lake. My dark hair surrounds me like seaweed, my thin dress glows palely like a shroud. The lake is dark, murky, not clear as it had once appeared under the light of sun and moon. There is no pain, no fear, but a lingering sadness remains. I am alone, in the dark. Presently it will grow darker and I will see nothing more, feel nothing forever.

Ahead, in the distance, the murky water brightens, clears. I feel myself rising, moving, gliding through the clear water towards the growing light. My body is shining, as though the light is seeping into me, through me, changing me from the inside out.

As I move towards the light, I see another figure in the clear distance. He is also illuminated from within, and although he is closer to the source of the light than me, he turns back. His bright-dark hair, his clear, shining eyes, his strong arms, suffused with the warm, clear light, call out to me. He waits, still, as I glide closer. In his eyes is reflected peace, surety, love, and as I look into his eyes, my soul is awakened and once again I feel. My soul is lit from within, as is my body, with love for him. He draws me into his arms as together we move into the growing brightness.

Finally, as though I had emerged from my dark room into the dazzling clarity of a bright summer's day, my eyes adjust to the brightness, and it is not a light in the clear waters of the lake that we are entering into, but a land so perfect and holy that it shines as a light into the darkness of that other world. My love smiles down at me and says:

"Welcome home."


End file.
